JeVon Nova-Parnes

JeVon Nova-Parnes, along with his husband Exeter, is the owner of fête: The Restaurant Experience. JeVon is an Entrepreneur mentally, while balancing being a father and family man at heart. He is motivated by creativity and artistic expression.

Admitting that when I was a teenager, the representation that we see today did not exist. At times, I felt I was the only one in the entire world like me. Odd, for someone that grew up in NYC to feel like that, right? I can only speak for myself when I say, I was born this way! I knew I was gay before I knew there was a word for it. I can remember at the age of 5, in kindergarten and having a crush on a little boy in my class. Who ironically had a twin sister, who my Dad joked I would grow up and marry. It wasn’t until High School that my Aunt introduced me to her coworker. He was a nurse at the hospital she worked at. I was 15 yrs old and he was 7 yrs older than I was. We became friends and eventually he titled himself as my Aunt too. He took me under his wing and showed me the beauty in Art and Culture. Museums, Clothes shopping and learning about trends and style. Broadway plays and Brunches were always on our list of things to do. Early on we never spoke about our sexual preferences, but it was over one of those brunches where he gave me the best advise anyone could have ever given me. Out of nowhere he said “Honey, we don’t have to talk about it. You may not even understand it yourself, yet. I just want to tell you this. When they ask, realize that they already know. That’s why they are asking. They aren’t asking because they aren’t sure. They are asking because they are ready to hear the answer.” His words were that vague and cryptic at this point, but he continued. “You know what I’m talking about right?” He asked. I had to agree at this point. All I could do was nod my head. My mouth full with the bite I had been working on, but I couldn’t even bring myself to chew it. “The last thing you want to do is lie about it and then later have to retract that lie. You don’t want to be Gay and a liar. You break peoples trust in you when you lie about it.” Right there is when I gulped the food I had only half chewed. This “Auntie” let me know, they knew. He had even said the word. The conversation did not effect our friendship. We hung out whenever I was able to. If I am honest, I never thought about it again. I was private. I was still in High School and not dating anyone.

It was almost two years later, weeks before my High School graduation. A night that still replays in my mind. I was in the kitchen, helping my Mom prepare dinner. I was chopping vegetables for a salad. She was next to me in front of the stove, stirring delicious food in pots and pans. We had our pleasantries about our day. My excitement to graduate High School. “Can I ask you something?” she inquired. “Sure! What’s up?” I replied, while chopping away. I was expecting the usual question of whether I was dating someone or who I was taking to prom, as I hadn’t asked anyone yet. Then it happened. “Are you Gay?” She asked. A clear question. Three words that had so much force, my body jerked as if I had been punched. My vision went white, as if I was about to pass out. Then I saw the red, and it wasn’t from the tomato. “Oh my God! What did you do?” Her voice brought me back to my senses. I realized I had cut myself. A clean cut on my left pointer finger. I held my finger with my other hand. Tight to stop the bleeding and I saw her from the corner of my eye grab a rag and try to reach for me. I remember retracting my hand and bring it to my chest. Not wanting to be touched by her. I looked up at her and my vision of her began to blur as my eyes started to water. A thick tear ran down my face. Was I crying because I’d been cut or was I crying because I now standing in what was a pivotal moment. Time stood still long enough to hear “Auntie’s” voice... “they are asking because they are ready to hear the answer.” This was it. I either jumped or regret not jumping. “Yes.” I blurted before I could chicken out. Just as quickly as my response, I turned and fast paced it out the kitchen. Down the hall, which felt longer than it really was and into my room. I slammed the door behind me. I pressed my back to the door, protecting myself with the door as visions of my mom slamming through it like a bull at any moment came to my mind. Breathing hard. Heart racing in my ears. Blood streaming through my fingers, just as quickly as the tears were streaming down my face. What now? I asked myself. I looked around at my things. My belongings. I knew other friends that had been kicked out of their homes after they came out, and so I silently said a good bye to all of my things. I threw my head back and starred at the ceiling. Through it actually. God, what have I done? I asked any Deity that would listen to me. A soft timid knock on the door brought me back. I knew it was her. I held my breath and stifled my crying, as if not making a noise would convince her I wasn’t in the room. “Please let me in.”

I heard her voice. Soft. Loving. It was my Mom. I opened the door and stepped back, allowing her in. She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. Stepping towards me, I can see her other hand held bandages and ointment. Her eyes didn’t meet mine, but my eyes scanned for her gaze and I can see her cheeks were wet from her own tears. “Let me see.” She asked, again her gaze only on my hand. Not my eyes. I extended my hand and she reached for it. Wiped at it. Examining it. “It’s not deep, but its a cut.” She said, letting go of my hand to uncap the ointment. Why wasn’t she just letting me bleed to death? We exchanged no words as she bandaged me. As she finished, it came to me. “You’ve known.” I said. It wasn’t a question, but a realization. She still hadn’t looked at me. She looked everywhere else, gathering her thoughts, but not up at me. She cleared her throat. “Was it something I did wrong?” She asked. “No.” I responded. “How did you know?” I asked her. She signed. “I have two sons. My youngest one is a serial dater. Has had more girlfriends this year that someone should have their whole life.” She stops and inhales. “He’ll probably grow up to be a womanizer.” She nodded her head, coming to terms before she continued. “My oldest son...” She paused. I braced myself as this was gonna be about me. “My oldest son dresses like he walked out of a magazine. Wears name brands I can’t even pronounce. Has the kindest heart. Hates sports, but loves art and I know none of that really means anything.” Her voice cracked, bringing on an onset of fresh tears between us. “He’s so beautiful. All the girls around here and the ladies at my job turn to putty around him. Yet, he’s never dated any of them or anyone. No girlfriend. Not even a mention of someone he likes.” She still hadn’t looked at me. Seemed as if she was talking to herself or to someone in the room I couldn’t see. “I added it up. I’m not stupid, but there’s one thing I can’t figure out...” She said. My eyes darted around her face. Why hasn’t she looked at me? Look at me, damn it!! I yelled it in my mind, but she had to have heard it because she did. She looked me right in the eye. I could see the hurt in her eyes when she said, “I can’t figure out why my son didn’t trust me enough to know that he could tell me and that I would still love him.”

I gasped for air as if drowning. I took a step towards her as our arms opened and in a flash, held each other in a strong, tight hug. Nothing more needed to be said. The tears just streamed on both our faces. I don’t know how long we stood there, just hugging tight, but it was long enough to wet the shoulders of both our shirts. What followed was a kinship between us, as she got to really know me. As she learned who I really was and asked silly questions like “So, do you guys kiss each other?” Which led to many answers. Like the time over a pint of ice cream and a movie, we sat on her bed the night that I had received my first kiss and I could confirm confidently. “Yes, Mom. We kiss!” I know first hand that not every coming out story ends well. The couch in my living room has been the bed to many of my friends, who’s lives as they knew it ended and yet strangely began when they came out. Letting them know that I accepted. As my “Auntie” had guided me, and still continues in my life today, it was my turn to be their “Auntie”. Even if I was the only person in the world at that moment that did accept them. To help heal them from their war wounds and then see them move on and flourish into whatever came next for them. It can be scary to come out, we must be smart and be safe. Not everyone has the good fortune to have family and friends that accept them. Where we are all fortunate is that we are alive and we all owe it to ourselves to live a life that makes us happy and is authentic.